Given up
by Mikiya2200
Summary: I would want to hunt you, that's what family is for." - Sam has a visitor at the panic room. --- Slightly AU-tag for "When the levee breaks". Warning: Dark stuff. Read at your own risk and please read the A/N at the end of the story.


**Summary**: _"I would want to hunt you, that's what family is for!"_ - Sam has a visitor in the panic room. --- slightly AU-tag for "When the levee breaks"

**Warning: **This is dark, heavy stuff. Well, for me anyway. I have never before written something like this.

A BIG hug for **Twinny **for her awesome speed-beta on this one and for her support. I LOVE the way your mind works, you have the awesome ability to always know what I want to say, even when I haven't found the words yet.

This was very, **very **hard to write. _Please _let me know what you think about it. And please read the **A/N** at the end of the story.

I've tried to stay clear of tags for this episode as best as I could, I have not yet read a tag that picked up this scenario, but if you have rest assured that this one is purely my own creation.

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_Wake in a sweat again  
Another day's been laid to waste  
In my disgrace  
Stuck in my head again  
Feels like I'll never leave this place  
There's no escape  
I'm my own worst enemy_

**Linkin Park**, Given Up

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"Sam."

The world stopped turning.

_click_

He froze, unable to move, to breathe. Fear closed off his throat, sending him staggering into the wall before he could even make out the source of the soft noise. Not that he needed a visual confirmation for it; he would have recognized it anywhere.

"Sam."

His name hung heavily in the air, crushing him with its weight. He started shaking, his body trembling violently with barely suppressed shivers, and it was all he could do to stay on his feet, closing his eyes against reality, trying to shut it out, push it away.

It was no use, the soft voice sounded again, sending another, more violent shiver through him.

"Son."

"No…" His own voice was breathless, weak, pathetic.

"Look at me."

He didn't have the strength left to move but his body reacted to the voice as it had done all his life, obeying the single command without hesitation, even while his mind was screaming at him that this was all _wrong_.

John Winchester was sitting on the cot, his dark eyes resting on him, the indifferent gaze crushing him with its intensity. Sam couldn't bring himself to meet his father's gaze, couldn't bear to see the accusation in his eyes. His mother's words were still a fresh memory in his tired mind; but the brief reprieve he had felt that there was at least one part of his family who wasn't disappointed in him, was actually proud of him and didn't believe he was a hopeless case, a _monster_, was already fading, crumbling away like the last reserves of his strength. His knees buckled and he slid down the wall, slumping back against it, dull eyes wandering slowly across the familiar form.

"Dad…"

His father just sat there, studying him, unmoving. Sam wasn't used to feel those eyes on him without the older man yelling at him in anger, arguing with him about a hunt, a case, his life, things he (Sam) had done wrong. Of course there had been other moments when they hadn't been fighting or mad at each other but those had been few and had never lasted long. He tried to stop himself from squirming too much under that scrutiny but couldn't really keep his body under control; it kept twitching and shivering against his will.

After what seemed like an eternity, John finally made up his mind about something, nodded once and turned his head, picking something up from next to him. Sam's eyes followed his hands, and he watched in confusion as his father cocked the trigger of the Colt and pulled the release pin off the load barrel, then tilted the gun to the side and let something small, metallic drop from the barrel, catching it easily and putting it beside him on the mattress. It took Sam a moment to focus his burning eyes and identify one of the special bullets as it lay on the washed-out fabric.

"Dad?"

"Where is Dean?"

Right, Dean. His father's favourite, his faithful partner and shadow. The son he could trust, could smile at, could respect. He swallowed hard, fighting to keep down painfully familiar feelings of rejection and disappointment, tried to keep them out of his voice as he whispered weakly, "N-not here… upstairs, with Bobby… I t-think."

If he had had more energy left, he would have scolded himself for stumbling over those easy words, for showing weakness in front of his father but as it was, he could barely keep his eyes open, was almost proud of himself that he had been able to speak at all.

"He locked you in here?"

"Yeah." It still hurt, the bitter taste of betrayal and shock gagging him as he remembered, and he avoided his father's eyes as he nodded weakly, keeping focused on the gun.

"Good."

John's voice was still calm and soft, his eyes trained on the gun, a small line of concentration on his brow as he tipped the gun to the side and produced a small bottle out of one of his pockets. Three drops of gun oil were methodically dripped into the barrel, and he tilted the weapon slightly to the side, watching as the liquid slowly worked its way through the small pipe. Sam followed the familiar movements for a moment, his frayed mind yearning for the quiet, relaxed atmosphere that had always surrounded his Dad when he was cleaning his weapons or preparing their gear for a hunt.

Until the single word registered.

"What?"

John's eyes never left the barrel. "I always knew he could do it."

Sam blinked, confused. "Who--- _what _?"

His father cocked the gun to the other side and let some more drops fall onto the metal. "I could always count on him; he followed my orders every time I needed him to."

Sam's stomach clenched painfully, and a distant worry began to gnaw away at his mind but his exhaustion soon dampened the sensation, leaving him watching his father with unease. He was so tired of fighting against him, of being at odds with him. His father had been right back then: most of the time when they butted heads, he couldn't even remember just what the argument had been about, and right now he didn't need another adversary nagging away at his defences. He wanted him to understand, he needed his father to see what he was about to do, what he fought so hard to accomplish. At the end of the day, after he had killed Lilith and _stopped_ the Apocalypse, John Winchester would be _proud_ of him, would, for the first time in both of their lives, look at him with respect in his eyes.

"Dad, listen, I---"

"I know what you've done."

He froze. His father knew? What did he know? About Ruby? His powers? The _demon blood _? His mind started racing frantically, throwing bits and pieces of memories at him. They didn't make much sense though; they were jumbled and distorted, familiar faces twisting into grotesque, demonic grimaces, growling, yelling, shouting at him from all sides.

_The Sam I know is gone, how far from normal, from human?_

_It's evil and you know it, but how can you run from what's inside you, the profane blood pumping through your veins, better than mother's milk!_

_The boy with the demon-blood, you've been warned, twice now, God doesn't want you doing it._

_I would want to hunt you, that's what family is for._

_I will turn you to dust because you're my brother._

He tried to curl in on himself, make his body smaller, tried to shield himself from them because it hurt so badly. Every word they flung at him cut through his mind like knives slicing through flesh, leaving scars so deep and raw that he couldn't stop himself from whimpering miserably. His father didn't notice his discomfort; he calmly cocked the trigger and placed more drops in the hinge of it, then worked it several times, the soft _clicking_ noises making Sam jump in fear every time they echoed through the small room.

"I know what you are, Sam. I've always known."

"Dad…" He barely got the word out, blinking heavily against the tears that started burning in his eyes.

But John ignored his feeble attempt to speak; he had finished oiling the barrel and was placing several drops into the trigger rocker, then aimed the empty gun at the wall in front of him, a hint of bitterness creeping into his voice as he spoke, "I thought I had raised you right, that you were strong enough. Stronger than _this_."

His gaze finally dropped to focus on Sam, sweeping over his huddled form, taking in the forlorn expression on his son's face and in response his own eyes hardened, his voice a disappointed, tired growl.

"I was wrong."

The Colt rocked slightly in his hand as he dry-fired at the wall to work the oil into the rocker and spring. Sam jerked as if he had been shot, pressing back against the salted iron-wall, only barely biting back a terrified shout. The words stung, worse than any punch or bullet might have hurt him, and he couldn't hold back the tears now as he blinked up at his father through a watery veil.

"Dad, I'm sorry…" His voice broke, refusing to manage more than a few, faint words. His father didn't seem to notice his struggle. If possible, his face closed off even more, disappointment slowly turning into detachment, indifference.

"Your mother and I, we only wanted the best for you. We loved you."

"I know, Dad, I---"

The words died on his lips when John suddenly rose from the cot in a blur of motions, closing the distance between them with a few steps. He towered over his shaking body, glowering down at his trembling son who was cringing back against the cold wall, weakly trying to scoot away from him, real fear starting to creep into his miserable expression.

"I've sacrificed everything I had, everything I've ever loved… for you! All the time I spent looking for that demon, wasting away my life with this wild-goose chase, taking away every chance Dean might have had to lead a normal life… Everything, Sam."

His voice had risen with every word, battering away at the meagre walls Sam had set up over the past months to shield what little strength he had left to keep going. John's angry accusations tore them down effortlessly, one by one, each hateful word hitting him where it hurt most, slowly baring his broken soul to his enraged father. He tried to fight against it at first, tried to physically turn away, shut out the pain, the truth that was firing out of his father's mouth. But he couldn't.

And John wouldn't stop.

"You got your mother killed, Sam. Mary's dead because of you. Everything I learned about you and your powers, your destiny, everything brought me to the same conclusion, she is dead… _dead_ because of you."

He leaned down, bringing his face inches from Sam's twisted features, staring into the shell-shocked eyes, a hand shooting out to grab Sam's collar and pull him closer, holding the trembling body near as he delivered the final blow, cutting right through the last defences and into his son's heart.

"_You_ killed her, Sam, _you_ killed your mother. Just like you killed Jessica. They never had a chance. They are dead because of _you_."

"No…"

Sam wheezed miserably, trying to jerk back but lacking the strength to move. He tried to meet his father's gaze one last time, searching desperately for any sign of compassion, forgiveness or even love, anything that would assure him his father hadn't given up on him yet, that there still was a chance they could settle their differences, could work this out and deal with it.

He found none.

His own father had abandoned him, left him behind with no hope of redemption. John Winchester would never be anything but ashamed about his very existence.

And he couldn't even find enough energy to care about it any more; his body, his feelings, everything just went numb. He didn't try to catch himself when John finally let go of his shirt, he couldn't have even if he had wanted to. He just slumped to the ground, resting heavy eyes on his father, completely beaten by the realization that this was it. It was over for him, no doubt left about that.

And John knew it, too.

"I should have done this long ago."

It was no longer his father looking down at him, no longer the man who had been married to the woman Sam had killed when he was still a baby. It was the hunter he had forced his father to become. A hunter who would always finish his job, and right now, that meant putting down a monster, a pathetic creature which had been desperate enough to let itself believe it was actually a human being. Sam could see it now, and he knew his father could as well.

It would be over. Soon.

He briefly considered telling his father that he needed to do just one more thing, a task he had to finish to give at least a little meaning to his life and the pain they had suffered for him. But the more he thought about it, the clearer it became to him that he didn't deserve it, his very existence had destroyed enough lives and families. The angels had to be right; it was Dean who would save the world. And he deserved it, for everything his brother had to go through in hell, because of him. Resignation gave way to acceptance so easily that he was scared for a moment. It was so easy just to let go, not give a damn about anything. And then he was simply too tired to care anymore.

He blinked as a weird calm spread through his body, his heart slowing down gradually, and he relaxed against the wall, gazing up at his fath--- the man who would put him out of his misery.

The barrel never wavered as it was trained at him and he closed his eyes.

It was over.

_I'm sorry, Mom, I couldn't bring justice to you.  
I'm sorry, Jess, it was my fault, I should have saved you.  
I'm sorry, Dad, I wasn't strong enough.  
I'm sorry, Bobby, I'll never get to tell you._

_I'm sorry, Dean.  
I love you._

A single shot echoed through the panic room.

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_I don't know what to take  
Thought I was focused but I'm scared  
I'm not prepared  
I hyperventilate  
Looking for help somehow somewhere  
And no one cares  
I'm my own worst enemy_

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**A/N:** Since this is a very heavy topic there is one thing I want to stress: Please keep in mind that this is **NOT **John Winchester in person, I am not trying to bash his character in any way. I am not a fan of dark!angry!hateshisboys!JohnW. and I would **never **write something like it! This is SAM trying to come to terms with his feelings toward his Dad and the fear of what he dreads his Dad would/could have done had he known about certain choices Sam made.


End file.
